Survival Strategy
by halestorm999
Summary: "It isn't living unless you have someone to live for. Otherwise, it's just surviving." / Dean's looking for Sam, but Alex is why he's still trudging along. Dean/OC, AU for the SPN universe (zombie apocalypse happened instead of episode one, season one)
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Oh, dear sweet jesus. This has been a long time coming. This is a crossover I've been writing with my mate Emma (clearlydisturbed) since _October. _The whole fic has been written, but we're still working through the editing. It's a daily struggle, considering that she's a workaholic and I'm a busy high schooler and I have a million other fics. **

**The whole timeline of this is pretty loose, but we know that, on the SPN side of this, it takes place instead of the events of the show. As for the TWD side, it takes place between the end of season three and the beginning of season four.**

**Disclaimer: Not ours.**

_**Enjoy!**_

**~_halestorm _and _cd_**

* * *

"Maybe they'll have pie," Dean said, craning his neck to study the grocery store they were parked outside of. Alex followed his gaze, tying her auburn hair up in a ponytail.

"Or goldfish," she mused, smirking. "I have been craving goldfish for weeks."

"You sure you're not pregnant?" Dean teased, but relief was palpable in his tone.

"'Course I'm not," Alex said, rolling her eyes, but she was just as relieved. Pregnancy scares in a world like this were hardly joking matters. "The test was negative, Dean. Besides, it's been almost six months since I last had goldfish. It's natural to crave them."

"Natural, my ass," Dean muttered, snorting at her, before hoisting himself out of the Impala, Alex following suit.

"So, beer, pie, and goldfish, right?" Alex asked, holding her gun at the ready in case any rotters stumbled into the area.

"And condoms," Dean added. "We're almost out."

"That's because you're horny all the time," Alex scoffed, and Dean laughed, leaning towards her and scooping her up by her waist, tossing her over his shoulder which wasn't a difficult effort given her short stature. Alex yelped in protest, banging her fist against his back to no avail. "Don't act like you don't enjoy it, too."

"Dean," Alex said as authoritatively as possible given her position, "put me down. Right now."

"I don't really feel like it," Dean drawled, slapping Alex's ass. She grunted and elbowed him between his shoulder blades. Dean often wondered how someone as small as Alex packed such a hard punch.

"Quit touching my ass and put me down, Winchester," she snapped. "If a pack of rotters came stumbling into the parking lot right now, we'd be so fucked over because you won't put me down."

Dean heaved a sigh, stepping into the grocery store cautiously. "Fine, fine." He pulled Alex off of his shoulder, and she immediately socked him on the arm.

"Let's just get our stuff and go," she muttered, turning on her heel and grabbing a grocery cart.

Dean scanned the store for rotters, finding none, and scurried to keep up with Alex as she marched towards the back where the preserved pies would be, helping her stock up before they moved on to the liquor. Alex was reaching for the last bottle of Jack when the front doors screeched open, and both Alex and Dean stiffened.

The bottle hit the ground before Alex realized it was falling, splintering the glass and spraying whisky all over Dean's grimy combat boots.

"_Shit_," they swore in unison, both trying to be quiet about it. The rotter on the other side of the store froze. Neither Dean nor Alex could see it, given that they were crouching behind the liquor shelf, but they had heard the bell on the door ringing as the rotter pushed into the shop.

It didn't sound like a normal rotter. There was no inherent feet-shuffling, no scratchy breathing, nothing. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but maybe it wasn't a rotter at all. Which worried both of them. Whatever it was it began moving again, swiftly this time. Down the aisle and around the corner.

Dean kept his eyes on the shelf in front of them, making sure none of the other bottles tipped over the edge. He pulled his Glock out of his thigh holster, flicking the safety off and aiming it in the general direction of the figure.

"With any luck, it'll pass by without noticing us," Dean muttered. Both hunters knew they didn't have that kind of luck, and the figure paused at the far end of the shelf, just out of eyesight.

"Ready?" Alex asked, drawing a Bretta from the back waistband of her jeans. Dean grunted in response.

The figure turned the corner of the aisle, his face visible in the glare of Alex's flashlight. It was a man, who had a crossbow aimed towards Dean's head.

Dean aimed his Glock at the man, but the confused expression remained on his face.

"Who are you?" the man demanded, his voice gravelly and lilted with a southern accent.

"Who the fuck are you?" was Dean's eloquent reply.

"Calm down, Princess," Alex muttered, but her face was stiff and blank, and she kept her eyes trained on the man at the far end of the aisle.

Dean cut her a sharp glare, but ultimately decided not to comment. The nickname "Princess" was embarrassing enough without Dean throwing a hissy fit about it.

The man hesitated. "You guys out here on your own?"

"Yeah," Dean said, pursing his lips. "You?"

The man regarded him suspiciously, considering Dean's question. After a moment, he nodded. "It was me and my brother, for a while."

Alex and Dean exchanged a look, and Dean lowered his gun. Alex breathed a long-suffering sigh and shook her head, swearing at the other hunter under her breath.

"I'm Dean," he said, "and this is my… Alex."

Alex rolled her eyes at the title. It was something they hadn't really discussed—the nature of their relationship. It was easier to just leave it as whatever it was and avoid labels.

"I'm Daryl," the man said, lowering his crossbow.

Alex slid her Bretta back into the waistband of her jeans. "Well, Daryl, it was nice meeting you. But we've gotta go." She pointed at hers and Dean's grocery cart, the contents of which were disappointingly lacking in goldfish and condoms, and turned to Dean.

Dean glanced at her for a moment before looking back at Daryl. "Have you seen a tall guy, around twenty-five, brown shaggy hair?"

Alex sighed softly. Daryl cocked his head to the side. "Seen a lot of people. A few of them look like that."

"You know where they were heading?" Alex asked, shifting her backpack on her shoulders.

Daryl studied them for a moment. "'m staying with a few of 'em."

Dean's eyes lit up. "Can you take us to them? I'm looking for my brother."

Daryl nodded slowly. "You got a ride? Can't exactly fit all of us on my bike."

"I'll pull around Ba—my car." Dean stumbled over his words. He called his 1967 Chevy Impala "Baby" around Alex, but he wasn't comfortable using the term with Daryl.

Alex grabbed their cart as Dean pulled the keys out of his back pocket, and then they made their way back outside.

"I'm not comfortable walking into a situation where we're outnumbered by a group of people we don't know." Alex's dark brown eyes flashed at Dean while loading the Impala and slamming the door.

"I knew you wouldn't. That's half the fun." Dean gave her a cheeky grin as he slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. Dean pulled around the store to the front, where he saw Daryl signaling for him.

"We're just going to go riding off into the sunset with Danny Zuko in there? He had a crossbow trained on your head, Dean. Who carries a crossbow?!" Alex crossed her arms and put her feet up on the dash, mostly because she knew it bothered Dean.

"We ain't riding off into any sunsets, especially not with him. But this is our first solid lead on Sammy since the farm, and you know it. We at least have to check it out and see if he's been there, or if he's still there." Dean began using a much more serious tone of voice, which was rare for either of them. Alex had almost forgotten why they were out here, why they were doing all of this. It was for Sam. Everything they did was for Sam.

* * *

They arrived outside a prison, watching as the gates were opened by someone on the inside. Based on height and build, it looked like a kid, but neither Alex nor Dean wanted to make that assumption.

"This is a prison," Alex groaned.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, pulling into the prison yard beside Daryl's bike. "It's starting to get weird."

Alex grabbed her gun, checked the bullets, and tucked it back into her jeans. Dean followed suit, and then they climbed out of the car.

"This is homey," Alex said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It ain't no mansion, but it's the safest place we've got," Daryl retorted. "Should be dinner time now, so everyone will be over there." Daryl pointed towards the middle of the three larger buildings.

The kid who had opened the gate came over. He didn't look a day over fifteen, but you could tell he knew what he was doing. He reminded Dean of Sam as a teenager, trying to be tough so their dad would stop babying him.

"That's Alex and Dean. They're looking for their brother; thought he might have come through here," Daryl told the kid.

Alex barely refrained from saying that she was definitely not Dean's sister. The very idea made her shudder.

"I'm Carl." The kid nodded at them in greeting. "What's your brother's name?"

"Sam. Sam Winchester," Dean said.

Alex could hear the hopefulness in Deans voice. She didn't think she'd heard him that hopeful about anything since they set out towards Stanford to find Sam, back when the rotter apocalypse first started.

"I don't think we have any Sam's, but he might have passed through," Carl mused, his voice deeper than most kids his age. "I'll walk you guys over there and see if you can find him, or at least someone who's seen him."

"Thanks," Alex murmured as they began walking up the hill.

"So, how many people are here?" Dean asked, hoping to establish more about their surroundings, if only to help Alex feel more at ease.

Carl thought for a second. "I lost count a while ago, but there's a lot of us. Mostly people we've picked up around the area."

Alex gave Dean a look, but didn't want to make too much of it. She knew this could be their next lead to Sam, but she also knew this could go horribly wrong.

"How old are you?" Alex asked, sizing Carl up.

"Fourteen," Carl replied, frowning at the question.

Alex raised an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Dean. Neither of them had ever given much thought to what happened to the younger kids when the outbreak started. They'd just assumed almost everyone had died. But this kid would have been eleven or twelve when the world ended. Alex didn't have a normal upbringing by any means, but at least she hadn't lived in a prison with countless other refugees while the entire world was undead and trying to eat her face off.

As they rounded the next corner, they saw people all lined up, laughing and socializing as they waited to reach the front of the line, where there was food. It all looked so normal, it made both hunters mildly uncomfortable. Even before the apocalypse, neither hunter had been in a gathering as utterly pedestrian as this.

"I've got to go check on my sister," Carl said. "I hope you find your brother." He bid them a short goodbye and hustled off.

"Nice kid," Dean muttered, shaking his head.

"Yeah. I feel kind of bad, though. I never even imagined what it would be like growing up in this shit," Alex said, glancing over the crowd for a giant of a man that fit Dean's description of his brother.

"So, what? Are we just going to walk up to each person and say, 'Hey, have you seen a giant moose that talks like an a complete smartass?' " Dean asked as they began to walk towards the crowd.

"I think we should be a little more subtle," Alex snorted, rolling her eyes. "Maybe we should split up and cover more ground?"

"Awesome." Dean practically skipped off to look for his brother. Alex didn't think she'd ever seen him this excited.

She made her way towards the front of the line to begin her questioning. She walked up to the woman who appeared to be in charge of the hungry masses—she was older, probably in her early 40s, with a gray pixie cut that contrasted her blue eyes. The woman tried to hand her a plate.

"Oh no, I'm not hungry. I was actually wondering if you could help me. I'm looking for this guy. Tall, 6'4'', brown shaggy hair, goes by Sam Winchester?" Alex asked, mustering up all the people skills she had.

"No one comes to mind," the woman said, still handing out food. "Are you sure you don't want to eat anything?"

"I'm fine, really. My name's Alex, by the way."

"Carol," the woman replied. "You're new here?"

"Just passing through," Alex said. "I'm looking for my…friend's...brother."

"Is your friend with you?" Carol asked, carrying on polite conversation.

Alex bit her lip at the tediousness of it all. "Yeah, he's asking around about Sam. We've been looking for him a while now. And this is one of the first good leads we've had."

"If you've been looking for him for a while, how do you know he's still alive?" Carol's tone was still the same, but her bluntness took Alex by surprise.

"Good question," Alex answered, forcing out a laugh. "But you don't know Sam. He was fighting like crazy before the world went to hell. He's still alive." Alex paused for a moment to remind herself that even she didn't really know Sam. Only what Dean had told her about him. But she knew that Sam was a Winchester, and she'd never had a doubt that he was still alive.

"Well, you should go talk to them." Carol pointed at a couple of people across the area. "They might know more than I do."

Alex nodded her thanks, and crossed the concrete to talk to them. "Ah, excuse me."

She approached the middle-aged man and his companion, a black woman who was probably Alex's age. They looked like they were arguing over something, but they stopped talking as soon as she approached.

"Can you tell me if you've seen a really tall guy? He's twenty-five, and he's got shaggy hair."

The two stared at her for a long moment, and she huffed. "It's not that difficult of a question. The answer is 'yes' or 'no.'"

"Sorry, I don't think I've seen you around before," the man said, narrowing his eyes.

"I just got here." Alex cocked her head to the side.

The man looked over her head, towards the gate. Alex could make out Daryl standing by the fence, talking to what looked like a woman, but it was hard to tell from this distance. When she looked back at the man in front of her, his eyes had hardened.

"Did Daryl let you inside?" he asked tightly.

Alex nodded. "We ran into each other in a store a couple of miles from here. He invited me and my friend, Dean, back here."

Alex hated trying to find a word to describe what Dean was to her. They weren't exactly friends, but Alex didn't really know what they were. When they met two years ago, Alex saved Dean from a group of vicious imps, and falling into bed together seemed like the best course of action. The next morning, the world was already taken by the rotter apocalypse. When Dean decided to go to California to find Sam, Alex followed him out of necessity and for optimal survival rates. Now, she follows him because she cares—not in a mushy romantic way (though they do still fuck from time to time, and maybe they are kind of bordering on mushy romantic-not that Alex would admit it), but in a strictly… Well. Alex wasn't sure what words described how she felt about Dean. He wasn't like family, and he wasn't anywhere near a boyfriend, but Alex wouldn't really consider him a friend, either. She supposed the term "friends with benefits" probably counted, but in this world, it would always be survival before sex.

The man clenched his jaw and shook his head. "I haven't seen the guy you're asking about. Michonne"—he gestured at the black woman he'd been conversing with—"keep an eye on her." He jerked a thumb in Alex's direction, then stalked off, making a beeline towards Daryl.

"Well, he's just a regular Mr. Rogers, isn't he?" Alex muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes. From across the space sandwiched between the two prison blocks, Alex could see Dean approaching. When they made eye contact, he shook his head once.

Alex wondered how many people he'd actually asked before giving up. It couldn't have been that many, since she'd literally just started talking to the black woman—Michelle, was it?—and the slightly older guy, and she'd only spent a couple of minutes talking to that other woman.

"And suddenly," Alex said dryly as Dean slung his arm over her shoulders, "a wild Dean appears."

Dean rolled his eyes, and Alex raised an eyebrow as she looked up at him. "Any luck?" he asked hopefully.

She shook her head. "Unfortunately, there have been no moose sightings." Alex offered an apologetic shrug, and Dean sighed glumly. "How many people did you ask?" Alex asked, shrugging out from underneath Dean's arm so she could look him in the eye.

His cheeks flushed. "One. But she seemed pretty sure that Sammy hasn't ever been here."

Alex cocked her head to the side. "Did it ever occur to you to ask more people? One person probably hasn't met everyone who's ever been here."

Dean pouted. "I just want to find my brother."

"We will," Alex promised. She sent a half-hearted glare in Carol's direction. "Now, come on. Let's go talk to someone else."

The pair walked back towards the crowd that was beginning to disperse.

"You two got 'ny luck so far?" Alex heard the distinctive voice of Daryl behind them.

"Not the good kind," Alex grunted, turning to face him. "There are a lot of people here, which makes it difficult to cover everyone."

Daryl pondered their situation for a moment, then glanced at Dean. "You could stay the night. Pick it up in the mornin'."

Alex shook her head quickly. "No, we really couldn't. It's nice of you to offer, but—"

Dean cut Alex off. "We'll think about it."

Alex twisted slowly to give him a dark glare.

"I'll go check with Rick, make sure we got room." Daryl and Dean exchanged nods of understanding, and Daryl sauntered into the prison.

"What the_ hell_, Dean?" Alex demanded, shoving his chest. "People weren't this nice before the apocalypse! Something weird is going on here."

"Look." Dean grabbed Alex by her shoulders. "It's almost dark, and you know it's a death wish trying to get back to camp this late at night. We're safe here, and we can try asking at least a few more people about Sam before we leave tomorrow."

"Can we at least sleep out in the Impala? I've fought my whole life to avoid spending the night in a jail cell," Alex pleaded, shaking his hands off of her shoulders.

"There is no way in hell that, given the choice between sleeping in a bed and in the back of the Impala, am I choosing the Impala. It's great for one night, but it gets old, and we've been sleeping in there for almost two years. Besides, you kick in your sleep."

Alex made a face. "And you wake up every morning with a boner, but you don't hear me complaining."

Dean rolled his eyes, and the two took off in the direction Daryl had taken. It was hardly nightfall and people were already heading to bed.

"They must not have many nighttime activities," Alex said, arching a brow.

Daryl walked out of a room down the hall, looking slightly flushed, and he gave Dean a nod as they approached. "Rick wants to talk to you. Both of you." Daryl shifted around. "He's a paranoid bastard sometimes."

"We don't blame him. This is a pretty shitty time to be trusting," Dean said. Alex only grunted, rolled her eyes, and followed Dean into the room that Daryl indicated Rick was in.

The man Alex had spoken to outside was leaning against a desk in the office, looking smug and satisfied, but his expression morphed into something more serious when Alex and Dean entered.

"Look," the man—Rick—began. "I don't know either of you. I don't trust you. I'm not going to send you back out in the middle of the night, but I can't let you be around everyone, either. You could be dangerous, and I won't put anyone at risk by allowing you two to be here."

Alex folded her arms over her chest and gave him a defiant glare. "So, what, then?"

Rick sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "I'll give you two choices. You can either stay in a jail cell in the next block over, locked in and away from everyone else, or you can sleep in your car under the eye of the night guard. Take your pick."

"Impala," Alex said instantly. Dean could choose whatever he wanted, but she wasn't going to be locked away for the night like some pre-apocalypse criminal.

"But _Alex_," Dean whined. "An actual _bed_."

Alex rolled her eyes. "Do what you want. I'm sleeping in the Impala."

Dean hesitated, clearly thinking it over, and then heaved a sigh. "Fine. I'll sleep in the Impala, too."


	2. Chapter 2

Daryl walked them back out to the Impala.

"'m sorry 'bout Rick," he muttered. "He can't risk losin' anyone else because he's made the mistake of trustin' strangers before."

"It's fine," Alex said stiffly. "We get it."

"We're the same way," Dean confirmed with a nod and a shrug. Alex noted that he was dealing much better with the situation than she was. But that's how Dean had always been, taking things in a stride and rolling with the punches. When they woke up the morning after their would-be one night stand and found that rotters had taken over the city in the middle of the night, Dean had been the first to recover, to decide their next course of action. He was good at thinking on his feet, at moving at the speed of light.

"Well, we'll see you tomorrow," Alex said as they reached the Impala. Dean unlocked the doors, and Dean waited until Alex had climbed into the backseat before hoisting himself in after her.

Daryl bid them goodnight and began the trek back to the prison block, and Alex draped herself over the backseat.

"Budge over," Dean ordered, pushing Alex's shoulders to get her to slide across the seat.

"You don't have to be so bossy, Princess," Alex groaned, allowing herself to be manhandled until Dean was happy with his position. Alex closed her eyes, pressing her face into the worn leather of the seats. Now that she was back in the Impala, she felt much more at ease.

"Night," Dean said. Alex yawned, mumbled out a "goodnight," and fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Alex woke up first, just as the sun was rising.

"Dean," she whispered in his ear. "Sorry we ended up in the Impala again."

Dean sat up, rubbing his face, and looked at her in soft light.

"No, you're not," Dean said, smirking, as he raised his hand to cup the back of her head.

"I am a little." Alex sat up, meeting Dean's kiss before he could lean down to her, and then she lay back on the seat, pulling Dean with her by the mouth.

"Eventually our relationship is going to have to evolve from this juvenile state of mindless fuckery," Dean murmured, kissing down Alex's jaw line to the curve of her neck and tugging her shirt down so that her plain, black bra could be seen. Alex moaned softly, arching against him.

"Shut up or you'll ruin the moment."

Alex grabbed the collar of Dean's flannel shirt and started popping open the buttons. Dean's mouth continued its path down her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses and nips on her heated skin.

Just as Alex began grinding her hips up into Dean's, the Impala door opened, alarming the two. A very confused Daryl stood before them.

"What the…" Daryl paused to clear his throat, blatantly alarmed. "What the fuck ar'you two doing?"

Alex pulled her shirt up so that her breasts weren't bared to Daryl. "What does it look like we were doing? Didn't you take biology?"

"Ya'll ain't brother and sister, are ya?" The worry in Daryl's voice was palpable.

"What!?" Dean jolted up from his position straddling Alex's hips and fell into the floorboards.

"We are so, so, _so_ not brother and sister. Or related. In any way. At all. Ever." Alex pushed past Daryl to get out of the car. Dean pulled himself up from the floor and followed Alex.

"Oh… Carry on, then," Daryl said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Alex made a face. "Nope. I think I'm going to be sick from just the _idea _of being related to Dean."

"Alex and I are definitely not related," Dean remarked, an arrogant expression on his face that warranted a look from Alex. "We're more like….survivors with benefits."

Alex rolled her eyes.

"After seein' that, 'm glad to hear it. If ya wanna wash up before breakfast, y'should go now, before it gets too crowded. Showers are on the second floor."

Alex's look of disgust melted into a beaming grin. "Showers?" she asked breathlessly, pulling on the hem of Dean's shirt.

"Just don't get up to 'nything in there. There are kids around." Daryl turned and walked away, and Alex turned to Dean. Alex felt he was still uneasy even though they had explained the situation, but she didn't care.

"Holy hell. I'm going to be able to take an actual shower," Alex exclaimed, pulling her bag out of the trunk of the Impala.

"It hasn't been that long," Dean said, following with somewhat less enthusiasm in his movements.

"The water hose behind the Gas' n' Gulp doesn't count as an actual shower, Princess."

Alex began heading for the showers, Dean trailing after her.

"Sure it does!" Dean cried. "That water hose even had one of the twisty things that changes the pressure and stuff!"

Alex dropped the subject. When Dean got defensive over stuff like his water hose, Alex knew better than to press the issue. Dean could be a bitch over shit like that.

Dean had already showered and changed, but he could still hear Alex's water running. "Hurry up, Woman! We're going to miss breakfast."

"Go get breakfast by yourself if you're in such a hurry!" Alex snapped back. "I'm taking advantage of my first proper shower in almost two years!"

"Don't make me come in there," Dean threatened, rustling the shower curtain.

Alex shut the water off, pulling her towel off the rack and emerging from the shower to give Dean a look that would destroy half the world, were it turned into a weapon.

Dean gave her a cheeky smirk. "Get your clothes on, sunshine. Big day."

Alex stalked away, snatching up her clean clothes and heading into the locker room to put them on.

"You look fantastic," Dean said, his voice dripping in barely concealed sarcasm. When Alex showered, her hair always went from somewhat curly to completely crimpy, which always earned her a remark from Dean.

At breakfast, Dean commanded attention from everyone he could find to ask about Sam. Alex tried to do the same, but it seemed neither of them got very far.

"I think its time to move on," Dean stated after the two met up again.

"Yeah, I didn't have much luck either. But I got you some pancakes!" Alex offered, hoping to cheer him up.

"I'll eat in the car. You got all your stuff?" Dean asked, taking the plate from her.

Alex grunted in reply, and the two found their way back to the Impala.

Carl held the gate open as Dean drove the Impala out, and Alex and Dean were silent as they hit the road once more.

"I'd almost forgotten what it was like to socialize with people who aren't utter pigs," Alex said after a moment, shooting Dean a pointed look. He wrinkled his nose.

"You didn't seem to mind me being a pig this morning when we were rolling around in Baby's backseat," Dean complained.

Alex made a face. "The fact that you call the Impala 'Baby' might be a bigger turn-off than Daryl assuming we're siblings."

"I think I'm scarred for life now. We may never be able to do it again," Dean said, mock-worry seeping into his voice.

"Yeah, we'll see how long that lasts," Alex snorted, fidgeting with a map. "What's the plan now, anyways?"

"We keep making our way east. That's where Sam said he was going."

By this point, Dean had shut down. Alex could tell he was upset about not finding anything at the prison. As much as she wanted to say something to make him feel a little better, she knew there wasn't much to say.

She pulled out a cassette from the glove box marked 'Zepplin II' and popped it in the player. Dean cocked a grin her way and turned up the stereo.

After a few miles, Dean turned down the radio to talk. "We should probably stop soon to get some fuel."

"Fantastic. You know I love Baby, but she gets like, four miles to the gallon. We could go a lot further if we traded her in!" Alex pleaded.

"You shut your mouth!" Dean gasped. "Baby is family and we can't just trade 'er in!"

Alex shook her head, and Dean exhaled deeply.

"Look, maybe we can siphon something out of one of those?" Alex pointed towards a small parking lot in front of what used to be an In&Out burger.

Dean jerked the wheel towards the nearest entry way.

"Ease up there, Speed Racer," Alex teased. "I'll grab the jug, you check out the area. Make sure we're okay."

Dean didn't say anything, just pulled his sawed-off out of the back seat and walked towards the edge of the parking lot, checking cars for rotters. Dean could hear Alex thumping around with the fuel gauge and signaled for her to keep it down. He had begun checking the cars again when he was gripped from behind.

"Son of bitch!" Dean shouted as he broke himself loose from the rotter's hold and fell to the ground, firing a shot towards the rotter's head.

He looked up to see what he had just killed. It wasn't a rotter. It was worse. Much worse.

"Alex, go!" he yelled as he leapt to his feet and began running towards her.

"Dean?" Alex called, trying to find him, but he was out of sight. "_Dean_!" she shouted again, running towards where she had heard him, gun at the ready. She turned the corner to see Dean charging towards her.

"Scavengers," he panted as he pulled her behind one of the trucks.

"Shit." They'd run into types like this before. They weren't friendly. Basically, their survival method was to kill you before you killed them. "Did you see how many?"

"At least four. I already took one out, though." A shot rang through the air, grazing Alex in the shoulder.

"Motherfucker!" she yelped, grabbing her arm.

Dean lifted his head from behind the truck and fired two shots. He wasn't completely sure if he even hit anything, but he was pissed enough to not care.

"You good?" He handed Alex a bandana from his pocket to tie around her shoulder.

"Yeah, just grazed me. No entry wound." She tied the bandana tightly around her shoulder, wincing as it cut into her skin.

Dean shook his head. "Looks like we've got one on the roof and the rest in the building. I don't know if they're armed, but the one I ganked a minute ago only had a knife."

"Can you see which side he's at up there?" Alex asked, craning her neck to see.

"Far left. You got this?"

Alex pulled the keys out of her pocket and tossed them into the shrub area across from them, creating a diversion. As the sniper shot off towards the keys, Alex stood up and fired.

"I think I've got this," she said, smirking as she lowered herself back down.

"Think we can get back to the car without messing with the others?" she asked, cupping her wounded shoulder.

"'S'worth a try," Dean muttered, shifting towards his keys.

Dean was about two steps ahead of Alex when he heard an extra set of feet. Before he could turn around, she had a knife to her throat.

The cold barrel of a gun connected with the back of Dean's neck before he could take action.

The man holding Alex had her by her hair, a knife pressed snugly against her neck.

"Drop your guns! Both of you!" shouted the man holding Alex captive.

"Let her go," Dean ordered, his voice stiff.

Alex began to struggle, but the assailant dug the knife into the corner of her neck, producing a small stream of blood.

Dean set his gun on the ground, and Alex threw hers to the side.

"The Bitch we have plans for. You're the one who's got to go," the man said as he switched from holding Alex's hair to her stomach.

Alex eyed Dean, and he nodded in reply.

Almost effortlessly, Alex slipped her hand between the man's hold and her body as she jerked her head into his neck, knocking him back. Dean knocked the gun away from his capturer and landed a hard punch to his left side which was returned within a second of Dean's attack.

Alex turned around to finish off the man who previously had her in his filthy arms, but as she turned she felt his knuckles pound into her jaw. It didn't take her long to retaliate, pulling him by the wrist and kneeing him in the stomach. He started to pull away, but instead linked his hand around her wrist and pushed her against the ground. The impact forced out a short cry from Alex, but it was silenced when he pounded his fist against her face again and again.

Dean had just broken the arm of his attacker when he heard Alex's cry, and he turned to her after knocking the man's head against the concrete. Dean picked up the gun his attacker had dropped and fired two shots at the man assaulting Alex.

The man dropped to the ground, but Alex didn't move. Her nose was clearly broken, and it looked like she'd split her lip as well. There was definitely going to be some nasty bruising around her eyes and on her cheekbones.

Dean knelt down beside her, sliding his hand under her neck. "Hey, Alex?" he whispered. She didn't stir, and he took a deep breath.

"Alex, hey, sweetheart. It's okay. I'm right here. I'm going to get you some help."

Dean gently slid one arm beneath the bend of Alex's knees, and the other around her back, propping her head up on her shoulder. He felt her hair, clumped with blood, and tried not to disturb the wound she'd received to the back of her head. He got her situated in the passenger seat of the Impala, and hoisted himself into the driver's seat. He pulled out of the parking lot and turned the car around, driving back in the direction of the prison.

Dean was a Winchester. He wasn't allowed to get worked up over Alex getting knocked out. But she was—damn it, she was _Alex_. They were tighter than family at this point, and meant more to each other than lovers, even if they didn't want to admit it to each other. Dean would freely acknowledge that if it weren't for Alex, he most likely would have gotten himself killed by now.

"Dean," Alex murmured, trying to move.

"Shhh, we're getting help." Dean reached over and put his hand softly behind her head. It took her only moments to pass out once more.

Dean wasn't worried about Alex dying, because he knew she was stronger than that, and if something ever did take her down, it wasn't going to be some fucking scavengers.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Annnnnnnnnd, I've finally got chapter three edited! Because I'm slowly and I put this off for, what, a month? Two months? **

**Who knows. This chapter is really short compared to the other two, which is okay because this was the best place to end it, anyways.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, not Emma's. Belongs to CW and everyone involved, and everyone involved over at AMC.**

* * *

Dean pulled the Impala up outside the prison gates almost two hours later. Alex had lost a lot of blood, even though Dean had tried applying bandages while driving.

Carl slid the gate open without Dean having to step out of the car. He let them pass, and Dean returned the Impala to where it had been parked the previous night. Carl hovered near him as he hoisted Alex out of the car, mindful of her wounds. She had woken up once or twice more, wincing in pain, when Dean was trying to cover the worst of her injuries, but she was out cold no

"Infirmary," Dean barked at Carl.

Carl nodded. "Follow me," he said, and began jogging up the hill towards the prison. "What happened?"

"Scavengers," Dean muttered bluntly. Carl cringed, and they continued the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

"What happened?" asked a man that looked suspiciously like Saint Nick to Dean.

"We were attacked by scavengers. She was thrown against the pavement. She's been in and out of consciousness for almost two hours," Dean explained, trying to stay calm.

"Lay her down over here." Saint Nick pointed towards a cot in the corner of the room.

Dean placed her down on the thin mattress as gently as possible and stepped back.

The man began to examine Alex's prone form, grabbing some gauze off of the table next to them as he began dressing her wounds, starting with the bullet wound.

"The hell happened here?" Daryl's voice broke through Dean's mental fog.

"We got jumped about an two hours outside of town," Dean muttered in reply, turning around to face Daryl.

Daryl looked down at Alex, and then back up at Dean. "You look like hell," he said gruffly. "You should go get cleaned up."

Dean looked back at Alex. She was still being examined-she had more injuries than Dean had originally presumed. But he knew that, at this point, there was nothing he could do.

Dean nodded slowly, and the two walked out of the room.

"She's a tough lil' spitfire," Daryl said, awkwardly attempting to reassure Dean. "She'll be fine."

"Getting the our asses kicked is kind of a part of what we do," Dean confessed, trying to return to his normal _who gives a fuck?_ tone of voice. Alex had been getting the shit kicked out of her way before the end of the world. She was a hunter, and she'd seen worse.

Daryl led Dean into one of the empty cells, giving Dean a sympathetic nod as he walked back to his post. Dean glanced at himself in the mirror over the sink. His face was about as fucked up as the time his dad found out that Sammy had run away on Dean's watch. Dean turned on the faucet and began splashing water on his face, trying to get rid of the blood stains, before sitting on the squeaky bunk and pulling his dark green, blood-stained button up over his head to examine the swelling bruises on his right arm.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, closer and closer to Dean's cell, and Rick stepped into the doorway of the cell.

"Sorry about your friend," Rick said, hands on his hips.

"She just needs a place to recover," Dean muttered, climbing to his feet.

"You guys can stay here 'till she's back up again, but like I said before, I don't trust either of you. But I ain't tossing you out like this, either."

Dean threw his shirt over the sink, glaring at Rick.

"You know, I get it being hard to trust people here. I do. But what makes Alex and I so different from all the others you people apparently collect?" Dean demanded. Dean didn't know why he was suddenly offended. He knew he and Alex were different because of who they were before this shit storm started, but Rick didn't know that.

"You've both been on your own since this thing began. No one can survive like that without seriously screwing over other people in the process." Rick met Dean's glare.

"You won't let us stay because we can survive on our own? We've met other people, sure. But none of them were worth a damn, and would have gotten us killed. It's been over a year since we were with a group of any kind, but trust me, we've always had good reason to leave." Dean wasn't hostile anymore; he was just tired, and communication had never been his forte.

"I get that, but until I know you better, I can't promise anything," Rick said, backing down.

Dean grunted and brushed past Rick to go to the infirmary. As he walked back into the infirmary, he saw that Alex was still unconscious, but cleaned up considerably.

"How is she?" Dean asked Saint Nick, crossing the room to stand above Alex.

"The impact from the pavement caused some damage, and she has a couple of cracked ribs. It's going to take her some time to recover. I patched up all of her other injuries the best I could."

"Thank you," Dean breathed, not taking his eyes off of Alex.

"She's going to be fine, son. She needs rest. And so do you," Saint Nick said, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean let out a snort of laughter.

"With all due respect, I haven't rested in almost three years now."

"All the more reason to do so." The man smiled at Dean, and left the room.

Dean observed the cot Alex was on-there was no way he could fit on there with her without hurting her. He breathed an exhausted sigh and pulled up a chair next to her bed, trying his best to get at least a few moments of sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Aha. So, it's been, what, a month since the last post? Oops. I'm lazy. I hate editing this fic. I've been working on this since October, so, you know. It's kind of one of those things I'm just so ready to get done with that I refuse to do anything with it until Emma forces me to.**

**Thanks, Emma.**

* * *

When Dean woke the next morning, Alex was already awake, and she was absentmindedly carding her fingers through his hair. Across from her sat Carl, whose ego seemed to have been stoked by the fact that Alex was talking to him.

"Hey," Dean said, sitting up and stretching. "Have you eaten anything?"

Alex nodded. "Carl brought us food." She pointed towards the tray at the end of the bed, where there was some leftover food.

Dean studied Alex. She was definitely worse for wear, but Dean knew she'd pull through. She already looked better than she did last night.

"You feel any better?" Dean asked, just to verify. "That S.O.B. knocked you up pretty bad."

Alex rolled her eyes. "I'm alive, so I'm good. I wouldn't mind another shower, though." She batted her eyelashes innocently at Dean.

"Maybe after you don't look like one of the undead" he muttered, shaking his head. He hoisted himself to his feet. "You good here on your own? I'm going to see if I can find that doctor guy to check on you."

"Hershal should be with my dad and Daryl," Carl supplied. "They're eating right now."

Dean nodded and ruffled Carl's hair. "Thanks, kid." He spared one last worried look in Alex's direction before leaving.

He found Hershal easily enough, and the old doctor agreed to come back with him to check on Alex. When they got there, Carl had left and Alex was picking at the food left on her plate.

"What's up, doc?" Alex asked, smirking at her own joke.

"How are you feeling today, Alex?" Hershal asked as he began to check the wounds on her head.

"'Bout as good as I look," Alex mumbled underneath her breath.

Alex lay down on the cot as the doctor began to test her ribs. Alex cringed.

"Luckily, your ribs are only cracked, but it's still serious."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked hopefully.

"It means you aren't leaving anytime soon. Three weeks at the earliest."

Alex blanched and swore.

"Thanks, doc, " Dean muttered as Hershal took his leave.

Dean perched on Alex's bed, pulling her legs onto his lap.

"Three weeks, Dean," Alex groaned, staring at the ceiling.

Dean sighed. He didn't want to stay there anymore than she did, but he knew she could barely lift herself up, much less go back on the road.

Dean shook his head. "We'll be fine."

"Well, I know I ain't staying here for three weeks. We should head out tomorrow-I mean, I won't be of any use if we get into trouble, but I have faith you can manage by yourself," Alex said teasingly.

"There is no fucking way we're leaving here tomorrow, sweetcheecks," Dean scoffed. Then; "I'm going to go get some stuff from the Impala if we're going to be staying here."

Alex hated being this vulnerable-it was something she hadn't felt in a while. She replayed the accident over and over again, trying to remember where exactly she went wrong. She never made mistakes.

Alex shifted around trying to find some relief from the stabbing pain she felt in her torso due to her cracked rib. She had just found relief when Daryl strutted through the doors.

"Hey," she greeted, trying to maintain her position.

"How're you feeling?" Daryl asked, sounding more genuine than Alex would have expected.

"Spectacular," Alex deadpanned.

Daryl smirked. "Glad to hear it, you looked like shit when Dean brought you in."

"I'd like to see _you _look decent after getting the shit kicked outta you," Alex retorted.

"I'm always this good lookin'." Daryl snorted. "Where's the princess at?"

Alex was pleased her nickname had caught on. "He went to go grab some stuff from the car. He should be back in a minute."

Daryl leaned up against the table adjacent to Alex's bed.

"I was gonna see if you guys needed anything. I'm goin' back into town. Apparently he and Rick got into it last night," Daryl continued, not looking at Alex, but rather through the window above her head.

Alex shook her head. "I can't leave him alone for five minutes. What was the fight about?"

"Dunno, but Rick sure wasn't happy 'bout it."

Alex started to reply, but Dean's voice broke through the conversation, and she dropped the subject.

"Hey." Dean nodded at Daryl as he walked in, carrying two duffle bags, a blanket, and one of Alex's backpacks.

"Are we moving in?" Alex teased, trying to hoist herself up.

Deans only response was his classic eye roll.

"I was just gonna see if you wanted anything from town?" Daryl asked, pulling himself from the table and facing Dean.

"We should be alright. Going out by yourself?" Dean asked, unzipping one of the bags.

"Glenn and Carol are coming with me." Daryl readjusted the crossbow on his back as he spoke.

"Alright, see ya."

Daryl nodded at Alex one last time before leaving the room.

"Did you get me something to drink?" Alex asked, watching Dean unpack his bag.

Dean pulled out a bottle of Jack and placed it on her bed. "You're a saint," Alex beamed, reaching for it.

"I don't think saints have been known for letting sick people get drunk," Dean retorted, chuckling.

"Carol told me earlier there was an extra bed I could sleep in, over in D block. I'm going to go get it and bring it in here," Dean continued, sizing up the small room.

"Dean, you don't have to sleep in here. Seriously. We're allowed to have personal space."

Dean ignored her, and a few minutes later came in dragging another cot, placing it directly beside Alex's.

"So is that a 'no' to the personal space?" Alex deadpanned, taking a swig of the whiskey.

Dean ignored her in favor of climbing into his cot and taking the whiskey from her.

"What exactly are we going to do for three weeks?" Alex asked, scooting closer to him.

"Fuck if I know."

It was silent for a moment before Alex asked, "What did you and Rick fight about last night?"

Dean rolled over to look at her.

"Who told you 'bout that?"

"Daryl. He said Rick was pretty pissed off."

Dean rolled back over on his back and exhaled. "He was doing the same shit he was the other night. All this shit about how we can't be trusted and then... I don't know. That guy's just got some serious issues."

Alex didn't want to press the matter, so she remained silent. She felt Rick was somewhat justified in his thinking, but on the other, Dean couldn't have been ready for that kind of talk last night-not with everything that was going on with her, and she'd seen how upset Dean gets when she's in danger.

Dean began to drift off, leaving Alex to lay there with a bottle of Jack as her only companion. She sat up and downed half the bottle, only wincing slightly at the pain.

Alex had just sat down the bottle when Carl walked through the door.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize he was sleeping," Carl muttered, starting to leave the room again, but Alex stopped him.

"Don't mind him, kid. He would have slept through the end of the world if I hadn't been there." Alex patted Dean's back. "What are you up to?"

"I was on gate duty, but Michonne took over for me when Glenn and Carol left for town. Daryl was supposed to go with 'em, but my dad said he needed to talk to him and pulled him aside." Carl smirked at the mention of his father and Daryl, then shrugged. "I decided to come see what y'all are doing."

Alex snorted, gesturing towards Dean's prone form and her empty bottle of Jack. "Obviously nothing interesting."

Carl hesitated, then pulled an old, dirty box of cards from the back pocket of his jeans. "I found these in the library," he said, looking at Alex hopefully. "I thought maybe we could play?"

Alex's face softened. "Sure." She shifted around on the cot, grunting and making faces as she went, until she was sitting cross-legged and upright. She motioned to the foot of the bed.

"Sit," she ordered. "You know how to play Texas Hold 'Em?"

Carl shook his head, easing himself onto the mattress and handing Alex the box of cards.

"I'll teach you, then." She shuffled the cards, then began setting up the game, explaining how it worked as she went. She paused, glancing up at Carl and arching an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you have anything you want to bet with?"

Carl shook his head again, and Alex pursed her lips. "They didn't have any chips or anything, where you found the cards?"

"There's a box of bullets in my bag."

Carl jumped, but Alex hardly paid any attention to Dean as he pushed himself up on his elbows, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "You can use those in place of chips, if you want."

Alex nodded, and Dean swung his legs over the edge of the cot, ruffling through his duffle bag until he found the bullets, which he passed off to Alex before flopping back against the cot.

"You want in?" Alex asked Dean. He shook his head.

"Nah, I'll just watch. If you weren't so damn loud, I could go back to sleep."

Alex stuck her tongue out at him. "Jackass."

"Bitch," Dean retorted. Carl snorted, and Alex grinned at the teenager.

"All right," she said, turning away from Dean. "Let's play."


End file.
